Oblivion
by samile
Summary: Nixon in Bastogne.


Hi, here is just a fairly short piece I wrote. Don't know if it's any good but felt like writing from a different characters perspective. Let me know what you think!

Oblivion

He sits on the edge of his foxhole, staring out into the white void in front of him as darkness settles over his head. It's quiet for the moment but he can't help but wonder how long the peace will last. All he knows for certain is that it's too goddamn cold to be fighting a war.

With a grunt he hauls himself to his feet; at least he thinks he does. His feet have been numb for so long that he could be floating and he wouldn't know it. He shuffles off toward Dick's foxhole, hoping that it'll be warmer there with another body to heat the cramped space. And, even if it's just as cold, at least there'll be someone to talk to. Besides, he's running low on Vat69 and what's left of his supply is with Dick.

He moves quietly through the twilight, the only sound his boots crunching through the icy snow and the occasional cough or whisper from nearby foxholes. Before long, he finds himself standing at the edge of Winters' shelter. He lifts an edge of the tarp that covers the hole and slides down into the surprisingly soft earth below.

"Christ, Nix, you could have looked before you decided to sit on me," came Winters' voice out of the darkness.

"Sorry about that," came his nonchalant reply as he pulled the tarp back over their heads.

"How are the men holding up?," Dick asked.

"They're about as well as you'd expect," said Nixon. "Tired, cold, hungry, homesick, eager to get the hell out of here-."

"Thanks, Nix, I get the picture," he said. "Anything going on I should know about?"

"Not especially, things have quieted down for now, as I'm sure you're aware of." Nixon pulled out his canteen and took a long drink, letting the smooth liquid burn a path down his throat.

"I don't think I've ever been so cold in my life," Winters said through chattering teeth.

"Tell me about it. What I wouldn't give to be back in England right now. Roof over our heads, warm bed, a nice fire going."

"Maybe we'll make it back."

"Yeah, and maybe Hitler's a wonderful guy." Nixon snorted, taking another drink from his canteen.

He hears Dick sigh beside him. He knows that his pessimistic attitude wears thin on the other man at times but he can't seem to help himself.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep, Nix. Got another long day tomorrow."

"I will. Why don't you go on and take your own advice for once. You need the rest as much as anybody else."

"Yeah, you're right. Night, Nix."

"Night."

Nixon allows himself to sit there in the darkness, enjoying the slight degree of warmth that being next to another person provided him with.

Taking another drink, he curses himself for not getting his Vat69 from Dick before the other man dozed off.

Oh well, he thought, draining the remainder of the canteen. He'd do it in the morning. He didn't feel the need to get completely drunk tonight anyway.

He shifted his weight and let his body slide closer to the ground, pulling his hands further up into his sleeves to warm his fingers. It was strange, he should be tired but for some reason he felt more alert than he had in days. It was ironic, really, that now when he had the chance to sleep his body was ignoring the opportunity in favor of allowing his mind to run unchecked.

He willed himself to focus on the present and ignore the memories that were coming at him full speed. Instead, he concentrated on himself and the fact he was beginning to be able to feel his feet after God knows how long of being unable to. He was also becoming increasingly aware that the sock on his left foot had slowly, irritatingly inched its way down his leg and was now bunched up in his boot.

He decided he was too comfortable to do anything about it at the moment, telling himself he'd take care of his sock problem along with procuring hisVat69 in the morning.

That's it, he thought to himself. When I've started dwelling on my socks after being shelled all day, it's time for bed, tired or not.

A yawn suddenly escaped him as a wave of exhaustion hit him unexpectedly. Slowly, he let his eyes drift shut as he slipped peacefully into a world of oblivion


End file.
